


Little Ashes

by Chimerari



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimerari/pseuds/Chimerari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Cobb is in a coma, Arthur has a lot of time to think</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr me folks](http://rosengris.tumblr.com/)

 

Arthur wakes up on a Tuesday, bright afternoon sunshine spilling red and yellow over his closed lids. He blinks, sits up, half aware of the stuttering breaths and sluggish movements from the rest of the team. 

  


Cobb sleeps on besides him, his face smoothes out with the sort of peacefulness Arthur hasn’t seen for a while.

  


A long while.

  


He doesn’t need Ariadne’s hesitant retelling of what happened down there; he knew already, deep down, the sinking suspicion that Dom wasn’t coming back from the job, not this time. Dom is finally lost in the brilliance of his own mind, it’s bound to happen sooner or later, no one simply walks away from that sort of power unscratched; a god does not resign. Arthur knows that, yet he has always clung to the silver of hope that spins over and over---not yet, not yet.

  


And now, Dom sleeps. 

  


Arthur puts his head in his hands for 10 minutes, and makes a decision.

  


‘He’ll come with me.’

  


Satio makes good use of his promise: they are packed into a private helicopter, with legal documents for both of them, and shipped off straight from the airport. 

  


‘We’ll go South for now, it’s warmer up there.’

  


The word home sounds foreign to Arthur’s ears; they’ve been without one for so long. Well, Dom has, Arthur never had one really; no parents, no relatives, an orphan sailed right into the top university with a full ride. Everything has been easy until the day Mr.Cobb showed up, with his meticulously pressed shirt and sleek hair. He was younger then, smiled more readily and with less teeth, his eyes were softer.

  


He had a proposition for Arthur, apparently. Arthur was just bored enough to give whatever it was a go.

  


He watched Cobb, this mere human, turning oceans into deserts, dusts into cities, and time into meaningless ashes. All in the space of a lunch break. 

  


Arthur was captivated, to put it mildly. 

  


The Cobb in his dream and the Cobb sitting in his dormitory reacted to his open fascination with the same amused grin and a pat on the shoulder. 

  


‘But what the hell do you need me for?’ Arthur finally blurted out, it seemed impossible for Cobb to require his help.

  


‘I need you to fight for me, to fight with me.’

  


Arthur has been ever since, no questions, no doubts, no hesitations. 

  


None.

  


It’s unsettling to see Dom in night shirts; no restrictive clothing, bedsores are a nightmare to manage, that’s what the nurse said. Dom’s hair curls slightly around his ears now that it's getting longer, strands of pale gold against the pillows. Arthur watches how his eyelashes appear almost transparent in the light. He wonders what Dom is dreaming about now--- galloping horses and faraway horizon, endless starry nights, James and Phillipa begging for one more bedtime story, 

  


Mal.

  


After the third job together Cobb introduced Arthur to Mal. She was not Mrs. Cobb back then; she was the fiancé, all infectious laughs and soft curves. She dressed well and spoke charmingly, but there was a wildness about her, a forest animal, a nymph. Arthur could see why Cobb fell head over heels for her, hell, any men would. She invited Arthur to Sunday dinners and barbeques and family gatherings. She remembered Arthur hated garlic but secretly had a sweet tooth. 

  


The wedding invitation was written in Cobb’s bold, tilting script. Mal was in a simple floor-length ivory gown. Cobb, no, it had become Dom a while ago, Dom was…glowing, and he was a happy drunk. The intoxicated groom spilled wine and giggled, honest to god giggled, into Arthur’s congratulatory hug. The shirt was ruined; Arthur didn’t bother to have it cleaned, 

  


The day Mal’s eyes turned fever bright, Arthur knew Dom has showed her his world, and she was powerless to resist its magic, just like Arthur. 

  


Arthur was there when their dream world collapsed into the real world, and the two universes crashed and burnt. Arthur dealt with the ambulance and the police when Dom was simply too hysterical. The only thing to calm him down was sedatives. Dom has always hated medications of any kind outside work, an understandable paranoia. He was on triple strength tranquilizers for days afterwards. 

  


Arthur got on that plane with tons of questions and no answers. Dom’s bony shoulder bumped into his through the thick layers of clothing, Arthur didn’t comment on his white knuckled grip on the armrests. It was a 10-hour flight, and Dom barely slept, barely breathed even.

  


As soon as he gets the chance, Arthur hooks himself up and dives back into the dream. Technically he knows fully well Cobb cannot drown, even though he might still be trapped in the car. (It’s always Cobb in the dream world, Cobb the god vs. Dom the man; it’s a fine line, but a line nonetheless.) However the whole landscape has shifted now that Fischer is out of the picture. There is no broken highways or menacing troops, now it’s miles and miles of empty plane, and a disturbingly clear sky, Cobb Is nowhere to be seen, not that Arthur expects to find him here easily. 

  


He walks the deserted earth alone; glancing around for any signs of movement, until the kick finally drags him out. 

  


The Fischer case was not actually the first time they’ve worked with Eames, not even the second time. 

  


The real first time went haywire halfway through; Cobb had to shoot both Arthur and Eames to get them out. Arthur glared daggers at the newcomer; getting killed on the job was nothing new, getting killed for someone else’s mistake was. The guy was good, Arthur would give him that, but too damn cocky for his own sake. Eames apologized profoundly, bought them drinks for the whole evening. Arthur watched Dom getting increasingly cheerful as the night went on, it was pretty amusing really, and excellent blackmail material. So he didn’t exactly interfere. Eames just…observed, the man was all lingering gazes and knowing smiles, it set Arthur’s teeth on edge. 

  


The second time went without a hitch. 

  


So did the third time.

  


Then Cobb suddenly spun around and pinned Arthur to the nearest wall, before proceeding to kiss him senseless. Arthur knew it was Cobb, not Dom, because there was no dice in his pocket, besides the fact that Dom only kissed women, as far as Arthur knew. 

  


‘You’re not him.’

  


Cobb grinned, thumbs stroking absently along his cheekbones, ‘And you, darling, are hard.’

  


Arthur shoved him off roughly, but not fast enough to scramble away before hands were roaming all over his face, shoulders, sides. Words were whispered into his burning ears. 

  


‘Shhh, it’s OK. You can have this, just a bit of fun, yeah? Just some harmless fun darling. No one has to know.’

  


He fucked Cobb, Eames, whatever, on a random bed in a random room of a random dream. The sensations were real enough though; sweat and spit and fire and ashes. He turned the mirage around so he didn’t have to see that face; the eyes were wrong---Cobb never looked at him with lust and glee, nor would Dom.

  


Not-Cobb let out a painful hiss when Arthur breached him from behind. Arthur was kissing down the pale shoulders and up into the soft downy hair at the back of his neck without realizing what he’s doing. Even the smells were familiar---Dom’s cologne and detergents. Arthur breathed in again and again, the scent made him stay still until Not-Cobb pushed back tentatively. The rest was all blurred, cut off gasps and moans, the hot clench of Not-Cobb’s body around Arthur, Arthur suspected Dom wouldn’t be so vocally approving as the dream version, but the release was no less blinding, he swallowed the name that was threatening to escape as he came, as usual. 

  


Arthur let Eames fuck him for real the following night, even lied on his back for it, it was only fair. Eames sucked wicked bruises onto his skin, Arthur didn’t object much, not as if anyone was going to see, or care. 

  


Afterwards they shared a cigarette, Arthur’s first in many years, he never really enjoyed it in high school, it was just a thing all boys did. Eames’ mouth was a shade of bruised red, and he smiled with just enough sincerity behind all the bullshit, just enough so that Arthur didn’t grab his clothes and run as soon as they were done. He said darling in that whiskey smooth voice of his, it was strangely comforting.

  


‘It won’t work you know.’

  


Arthur didn’t pretend not to know what Eames meant; he didn’t want to pretend anymore tonight. 

  


‘Well, you can always come to me; at least I’ll give you an honest orgasm.’ Eames foxy eyes were more half-hearted suggestion than real invitation, Arthur listened to neither.

  


They didn’t say goodbye, and Arthur made Dom promise never to team up with Eames unless absolutely necessary, quoting personal difference. 

  


Neither of them mentioned the encounter when they did meet up again. Arthur hardly blushed under that too sharp gaze. 

  


Arthur goes to visit Dom’s children one day. He has before, of course. He’s been to the Christening and almost every single birthday celebration. He vaguely remembers them as two curly haired kids who were pretty shy to start with, although the true color showed through soon enough. Cobb is ruthless in his line of work, doesn’t take any nonsense from no one. Dom was, and very likely still is, an indulgent father. The kids crawled all over his creaseless pants and left muddy handprints everywhere. A scowling Dom looking to Mal for rescue was a regular sight in the house. Mal expertly withheld cookies until the little devils promised to behave; the threat was almost as magical as Cobb’s brainwork.

  


On the drive there Arthur picks through the fragments of his memory for those two blurry sets of smiles strained with chocolate. So it’s harder to say who is more surprised when he presses the bell and a boy, little older than 10 maybe, answers the door with a blank stare and a raised eyebrow.

  


‘Can I help you?’

  


Arthur is speechless, literally. It’s James, it has to be. He’s got Dom’s poker face down to the last detail, it’s like looking at a miniature Dom with Mal’s stormy eyes.

  


‘Eh, hi, you probably don’t remember me but, I’m a friend of your father…’

  


The boy (not yet a man but trying his damn hardest to be) gives him a suspicious look.

  


‘Never had one of those before.’

  


Arthur recognizes the tone from a lifetime of distrust, of watching your back, and of growing up too fast. He manages a hopefully disarming smile.

  


‘I would have come earlier but I’ve been away.’

  


‘Like my mum?’

  


Arthur swallowed, ‘Can I come in？I just want to leave the presents with you guys, then I’ll be on my way.’ He holds up the paper bags as a peace offering. He’s never been all that good with kids, not even with Dom’s, to be honest. 

  


Just as the boy is about to speak, another voice drifted out from the inside of the house.

  


‘James? Who is it?’

  


It’s a girl’s voice, wind chimes and bubbling spring. 

  


Phillipa.

  


A hand emerges besides James a moment later, pressing down on his tense shoulder,

  


‘Hi, sorry about all these, grandpa said no strangers; James takes it a bit too seriously.’

  


She doesn’t look like Mal much, but the smile is all hers. Arthur has to clear his throat before trusting his voice again.

  


‘Hello, I’m Arthur. I work with your Dad a lot.’

  


Her eyes widen,’ Oh…OH, I remember you! You’re the guy who doesn’t smile, well, not very often anyways.’

  


Kids and their amazing perceptive powers. Arthur doesn’t get embarrassed easily, in fact, he can count on one hand the number of occasions he did. This will be another one.

  


She coaxes her frowning brother aside and opens the doors wider,

  


‘Please come in. Helen has gone out for food, she’ll be back soon. Would you like to stay for tea?’

  


Arthur pretty much bites through his tongue, ‘No, no thanks. That’s very kind. But I…I have to get going.’ 

  


He shoves the packages into her arms, scratching the back of his neck, ‘I brought you guys something, from your Dad.’

  


She ducks her head and smiles a little, ‘A Barbie right? I get one for every birthday and every Christmas. Dad’s not very creative.’

  


Arthur’s chest tightens momentarily; he bends down until he’s eye level with both of them,

  


‘Listen, I can’t promise you when, but your dad is coming back. And you can tell him that in person okay? I just, need a bit more time.’

  


She brightens up visibly and holds out a finger,

  


‘Pinky promise?’

  


Arthur drives back at 110 an hour, the highway whizzing past the rolled down windows. The night chill does nothing to erase the phantom burn of those tiny hands. 

  


It’s getting boring, is what it is.

  


Arthur feels like a ghost haunting No man’s land, the only company is the sound of his steady footsteps. Even his breathing sounds too loud in his ears. The permanent daylight doesn’t cheer him up at all, all it does is to magnify the fact that he’s utterly alone, buried in Dom’s sub-consciousness. A lost traveler looking for something that may or may not exist anymore.

  


He tries shouting for Cobb, screaming the name until he’s blue in the face. There isn’t even a goddamn echo answering his pleas, not a soul listening to him asking Cobb to come back, where the hell are you, damn it. 

  


Sometimes Arthur wonders what happens in the dream world when you die in the real one. Will the one last shuddering breath stretches into infinity, or will it be a quick black out, no time to say goodbye. Or, if spirits do exist, will they drift around in their own individual universe, rather than ascending to a collective heaven.

  


When he gets too tired to walk, or think anymore. Arthur pulls out the pistol in his pocket and aims for the heart, fingers steady. This is probably the only thing he never had to do when Cobb is around. He remembers Cobb getting him out once, a quick plunge of a smooth knife, the last thing he saw was Cobb’s eyes, the pupils blown so wide they practically swallowed up the thin ring of blue.

  


He waited for 30 minutes before Cobb stirred in the recliner; he was drenched from head to toe in sweat. His pulse a panicked flutter beneath Arthur’s palm. He asked if Arthur was okay and turned away without waiting for an answer.

  


He took a break for almost 4 months, one of the longest to date, 

  


There was this one time, just once. They got the info, but the projections were getting restless, they were closing in, frantically searching for the intruders. 

  


He and Cobb was running along this corridor, looked like a hotel of some sort, identical doors and plush carpets. They needed less than one minute perhaps, then the kick would get them out in one piece. They rounded off the corner just as a group of people marched closer, Arthur didn’t have time to think, just grabbed Cobb on instinct and leaned in; his lips grazed against the stubble on Cobb’s jaw, before settling on the spot just underneath, the skin there soft and smooth. He felt Cobb swallow against the gentle pressure, a little push and give of tendons, but Cobb’s hand went to his hips quickly enough---always the one preferring improvisation.

  


They stayed like that for mere moments, until the nameless faces disappeared from the corner of Arthur’s eyes. He stepped away hastily, brain scrambling to come up with something to say. However the scenery shifted just then, and he was blinking away the harsh fluorescent light overhead. The train jolted him out of the stupor, by then Dom was already gathering up their supplies. Arthur touched his lips uncertainly; the sting of Cobb’s stubble was still fresh in his mind, but all he felt now was dry skin, untouched, unmarked.

  


Dom blew out a breath when they’ve reached a carriage far enough from the mark. He threw a casual smile over his shoulder,

  


‘Good thinking, I’m pretty tired of emergency exits myself.’

  


Arthur turned the event over and over in his head; what if the projections didn’t move away as fast, what if they have to make it believable for just a bit longer, what would Cobb’s skin taste like on his tongue, what would Cobb’s fingertips feel like without the barriers of clothes.

  


He shrugged.

  


Arthur is free to touch Dom now, anywhere he likes, for as long as he likes. He even has the legitimate excuse of trying to stop Cobb’s muscles from wasting away. But he never does it without gloves; it feels…wrong to do it skin to skin, like he’s violating Dom in some way, exploring without permission. Most of the time he hires nurses to do the job, but during holidays, it’s hard to get hold of any help. He does the bathing himself---Dom sags against him in the tub, an intimate weight, his wet hair tickles Arthur’s neck. Arthur finishes the whole thing as fast as he can, then bundles Dom up in a fluffy towel. 

  


Arthur rubs funny smelling ointments over Dom’s clammy skin, stretching the joints. He spends the longest on Dom’s fingers; those are the ones to go first without regular exercises. He dutifully flexes each knuckle, warming them up between his palms, never missing one single digit. Dom has nice hands, not slender or pampered, but solid, a small puckered scar at the meaty part of his palm, it’s from a broken fence when Dom was young. There are thin lines running up the sides of his right arm---burns, evidence of Cobb’s first and final attempt at cooking up something other than microwave meals. 

  


It’s scary how much you can know about someone, without knowing them.

  


Really knowing them. 

  


The washing and feeding isn’t the worst part, the worst part is when the nurse shows Arthur how to help a more or less comatose guy with a chamber pot, and realization hits Arthur then.

  


‘I…I don’t have to hold it for him do I?’

  


The nurse chuckles, ‘usually not, but I’d have thought it’s no big deal for you guys.’’

  


Arthur feels the tips of his ears going bright red, ‘We’re not like that.’

  


‘Oh.’ She looks somewhat sympathetic now, ‘well, you still have to wipe the area after, unless you want to worry about infections.’

  


Arthur would rather strip and dance to Y.M.C.A in front of The Team, seriously. It’s not as bad as Arthur thought, but the sheer lack of physical contact means Dom occasionally gets hard from such simple touches. The first time it happens Arthur almost bolts out of the door straightaway. 

  


He soldiers on with the same grim determination as when he decides to take Dom with him off that plane.

  


When Dom wakes up it’s almost anti-climatic. 

  


Arthur is getting some water from the kitchen, he returns, blue eyes flicker up to track his entrance.

  


The glass hits the floor without a sound, Arthur curses when the carpet gets soaked almost instantly, jumping up to retrieve the thankfully intact tumbler. 

  


‘Shit! Sorry…’

  


He walks quickly (not running, damn it) back to the kitchen, leans over the sink and takes 10 deep breaths. Arthur spins his dice, watches it stop on the particular number, does it again, then walks back. 

  


Dom gives him an unsure smile, his face twists and shifts as if the very motion has been forgotten.

  


‘What day is it?’

  


Arthur tells him, his heart drumming against his ribcage, the lub-dub is all distant though, almost an annoyance. He wants to take in every detail, hears every noise, notes every movement without any distraction.

  


Dom nods, he tries to sit up but fails miserably. Arthur springs into action a second later, supporting Dom’s weight with one shoulder and re-arranges the pillows quickly. The sleepy stale warmth coming from Dom is almost overwhelming. 

  


Dom doesn’t speak again for the rest of the day, just watches--the slightly unfocused gaze of a newly freed prisoner. Arthur doesn’t blame him; he’s a bit shaken up too. He always thought there was going to be, you know, something, to warn him of this moment; a thunderstorm, a dream, something that would be a trigger to a cascade of events, baby steps and all. Not like this, having an altered reality dropped onto his head in a heartbeat.

  


Guess he was wrong, again.

  


Dom speaks in disjointed words and phrases first, his voice slurred, scratchy from disuse. He asks about Arthur, the team, his kids. Arthur answers all the questions, but doesn’t ask. He knows Dom is either going to talk when he’s ready, or not at all. He’s a private guy.

  


He drives Dom back to home home a few months later, when Dom is physically stable and mentally more organized. The kids are over the moon, naturally, and Arthur sees Dom wiping tears away awkwardly with his sleeves. 

  


Arthur goes to talk with Miles.

  


On the third day of the family re-union, Arthur knocks on Dom’s bedroom door and squares his shoulders. He doesn’t have a parting speech prepared, but he figures any excuse is as good as another.

  


Dom opens the door in loose pants and worn flannels, a sight so familiar yet completely new when they’re both standing upright.

  


‘Arthur? Why’re you still up?’ Dom yawned, a grin hidden beneath his ruffled hair, ‘Something under your bed? You want milk? Pancakes?’

  


Arthur said it in one go without his brain stepping in to cause any trouble, ‘I’m going tomorrow, thought I’d let you know.’

  


‘Oh.’

  


Arthur looks at Dom, looks at the face that he’s seen thousands of times, both asleep and awake, every single one of its impassive line, the blank plane and chiseled bones underneath.

  


‘Well, that’s all. I’ll let you get back to sleep.’

  


‘So soon?’ Dom cuts in almost before Arthur finishes saying ‘sleep’.

  


‘Yeah, want to do some traveling, go see some friends, been a while.’ 

  


Dom nods slowly, as if trying to process every syllable. Arthur turns to go again, but not before Dom calling out hastily,

  


‘Wait, wait, hey…’ Dom trails off. He scrubs a palm over his shadowed eyes,

  


‘Look, can we talk about this in the morning? Just, can you wait for a bit longer? It’s late.’

  


Arthur says good night evenly.

  


He finds Dom sitting in the garden with two cups of coffee on the small table, one black, one with cream and two sugars, no surprise there. The morning sun stains his hair almost white. Arthur watches him for a minute; Dom is not what you’d call classically handsome, his mouth too thin, his jaw lost the sharpness of youth, his cheeks too pale, the shadows beneath his eyes almost permanently there, but he’s no less captivating, even without his mind-blowing dream kingdom. 

  


Arthur has to remind himself to breathe.

  


Dom turns his head slightly and gestures for Arthur to sit down, Arthur moves forward on autopilot.

  


They finish the coffee in complete silence. Then both of them speak in perfect unison when the cups hit the tabletop.

  


‘Dom…’

  


“Listen…’

  


The following silence is instantly charged, with what, Arthur does not know.

  


Dom waits with his fingers inter-linked together, twirling his thumbs, his typical please-continue pose. Arthur takes the chance.

  


‘You first.’

  


Dom stops moving all together for one breathless moment, then he inhaled.

  


‘If you go, I mean, before you go, have I ever told you why I woke up?’

  


Arthur wakes up on a Tuesday, bright afternoon sunshine spilling red and yellow over his closed lids. He blinks, sits up, half aware of the stuttering breaths and sluggish movements from the rest of the team. 

Cobb sleeps on besides him, his face smoothes out with the sort of peacefulness Arthur hasn’t seen for a while.

A long while.

He doesn’t need Ariadne’s hesitant retelling of what happened down there; he knew already, deep down, the sinking suspicion that Dom wasn’t coming back from the job, not this time. Dom is finally lost in the brilliance of his own mind, it’s bound to happen sooner or later, no one simply walks away from that sort of power unscratched; a god does not resign. Arthur knows that, yet he has always clung to the silver of hope that spins over and over---not yet, not yet.

And now, Dom sleeps. 

Arthur puts his head in his hands for 10 minutes, and makes a decision.

‘He’ll come with me.’

  


  


Satio makes good use of his promise: they are packed into a private helicopter, with legal documents for both of them, and shipped off straight from the airport. 

‘We’ll go South for now, it’s warmer up there.’

The word home sounds foreign to Arthur’s ears; they’ve been without one for so long. Well, Dom has, Arthur never had one really; no parents, no relatives, an orphan sailed right into the top university with a full ride. Everything has been easy until the day Mr.Cobb showed up, with his meticulously pressed shirt and sleek hair. He was younger then, smiled more readily and with less teeth, his eyes were softer.

He had a proposition for Arthur, apparently. Arthur was just bored enough to give whatever it was a go.

He watched Cobb, this mere human, turning oceans into deserts, dusts into cities, and time into meaningless ashes. All in the space of a lunch break. 

Arthur was captivated, to put it mildly. 

The Cobb in his dream and the Cobb sitting in his dormitory reacted to his open fascination with the same amused grin and a pat on the shoulder. 

‘But what the hell do you need me for?’ Arthur finally blurted out, it seemed impossible for Cobb to require his help.

‘I need you to fight for me, to fight with me.’

Arthur has been ever since, no questions, no doubts, no hesitations. 

None.

  


  


It’s unsettling to see Dom in night shirts; no restrictive clothing, bedsores are a nightmare to manage, that’s what the nurse said. Dom’s hair curls slightly around his ears now that it's getting longer, strands of pale gold against the pillows. Arthur watches how his eyelashes appear almost transparent in the light. He wonders what Dom is dreaming about now--- galloping horses and faraway horizon, endless starry nights, James and Phillipa begging for one more bedtime story, 

Mal.

  


  


After the third job together Cobb introduced Arthur to Mal. She was not Mrs. Cobb back then; she was the fiancé, all infectious laughs and soft curves. She dressed well and spoke charmingly, but there was a wildness about her, a forest animal, a nymph. Arthur could see why Cobb fell head over heels for her, hell, any men would. She invited Arthur to Sunday dinners and barbeques and family gatherings. She remembered Arthur hated garlic but secretly had a sweet tooth. 

The wedding invitation was written in Cobb’s bold, tilting script. Mal was in a simple floor-length ivory gown. Cobb, no, it had become Dom a while ago, Dom was…glowing, and he was a happy drunk. The intoxicated groom spilled wine and giggled, honest to god giggled, into Arthur’s congratulatory hug. The shirt was ruined; Arthur didn’t bother to have it cleaned, 

The day Mal’s eyes turned fever bright, Arthur knew Dom has showed her his world, and she was powerless to resist its magic, just like Arthur. 

Arthur was there when their dream world collapsed into the real world, and the two universes crashed and burnt. Arthur dealt with the ambulance and the police when Dom was simply too hysterical. The only thing to calm him down was sedatives. Dom has always hated medications of any kind outside work, an understandable paranoia. He was on triple strength tranquilizers for days afterwards. 

Arthur got on that plane with tons of questions and no answers. Dom’s bony shoulder bumped into his through the thick layers of clothing, Arthur didn’t comment on his white knuckled grip on the armrests. It was a 10-hour flight, and Dom barely slept, barely breathed even.

  


  


As soon as he gets the chance, Arthur hooks himself up and dives back into the dream. Technically he knows fully well Cobb cannot drown, even though he might still be trapped in the car. (It’s always Cobb in the dream world, Cobb the god vs. Dom the man; it’s a fine line, but a line nonetheless.) However the whole landscape has shifted now that Fischer is out of the picture. There is no broken highways or menacing troops, now it’s miles and miles of empty plane, and a disturbingly clear sky, Cobb Is nowhere to be seen, not that Arthur expects to find him here easily. 

He walks the deserted earth alone; glancing around for any signs of movement, until the kick finally drags him out. 

  


  


  


The Fischer case was not actually the first time they’ve worked with Eames, not even the second time. 

The real first time went haywire halfway through; Cobb had to shoot both Arthur and Eames to get them out. Arthur glared daggers at the newcomer; getting killed on the job was nothing new, getting killed for someone else’s mistake was. The guy was good, Arthur would give him that, but too damn cocky for his own sake. Eames apologized profoundly, bought them drinks for the whole evening. Arthur watched Dom getting increasingly cheerful as the night went on, it was pretty amusing really, and excellent blackmail material. So he didn’t exactly interfere. Eames just…observed, the man was all lingering gazes and knowing smiles, it set Arthur’s teeth on edge. 

The second time went without a hitch. 

So did the third time.

Then Cobb suddenly spun around and pinned Arthur to the nearest wall, before proceeding to kiss him senseless. Arthur knew it was Cobb, not Dom, because there was no dice in his pocket, besides the fact that Dom only kissed women, as far as Arthur knew. 

‘You’re not him.’

Cobb grinned, thumbs stroking absently along his cheekbones, ‘And you, darling, are hard.’

Arthur shoved him off roughly, but not fast enough to scramble away before hands were roaming all over his face, shoulders, sides. Words were whispered into his burning ears. 

‘Shhh, it’s OK. You can have this, just a bit of fun, yeah? Just some harmless fun darling. No one has to know.’

He fucked Cobb, Eames, whatever, on a random bed in a random room of a random dream. The sensations were real enough though; sweat and spit and fire and ashes. He turned the mirage around so he didn’t have to see that face; the eyes were wrong---Cobb never looked at him with lust and glee, nor would Dom.

Not-Cobb let out a painful hiss when Arthur breached him from behind. Arthur was kissing down the pale shoulders and up into the soft downy hair at the back of his neck without realizing what he’s doing. Even the smells were familiar---Dom’s cologne and detergents. Arthur breathed in again and again, the scent made him stay still until Not-Cobb pushed back tentatively. The rest was all blurred, cut off gasps and moans, the hot clench of Not-Cobb’s body around Arthur, Arthur suspected Dom wouldn’t be so vocally approving as the dream version, but the release was no less blinding, he swallowed the name that was threatening to escape as he came, as usual. 

Arthur let Eames fuck him for real the following night, even lied on his back for it, it was only fair. Eames sucked wicked bruises onto his skin, Arthur didn’t object much, not as if anyone was going to see, or care. 

Afterwards they shared a cigarette, Arthur’s first in many years, he never really enjoyed it in high school, it was just a thing all boys did. Eames’ mouth was a shade of bruised red, and he smiled with just enough sincerity behind all the bullshit, just enough so that Arthur didn’t grab his clothes and run as soon as they were done. He said darling in that whiskey smooth voice of his, it was strangely comforting.

‘It won’t work you know.’

Arthur didn’t pretend not to know what Eames meant; he didn’t want to pretend anymore tonight. 

‘Well, you can always come to me; at least I’ll give you an honest orgasm.’ Eames foxy eyes were more half-hearted suggestion than real invitation, Arthur listened to neither.

They didn’t say goodbye, and Arthur made Dom promise never to team up with Eames unless absolutely necessary, quoting personal difference. 

Neither of them mentioned the encounter when they did meet up again. Arthur hardly blushed under that too sharp gaze. 

  


  


  


Arthur goes to visit Dom’s children one day. He has before, of course. He’s been to the Christening and almost every single birthday celebration. He vaguely remembers them as two curly haired kids who were pretty shy to start with, although the true color showed through soon enough. Cobb is ruthless in his line of work, doesn’t take any nonsense from no one. Dom was, and very likely still is, an indulgent father. The kids crawled all over his creaseless pants and left muddy handprints everywhere. A scowling Dom looking to Mal for rescue was a regular sight in the house. Mal expertly withheld cookies until the little devils promised to behave; the threat was almost as magical as Cobb’s brainwork.

On the drive there Arthur picks through the fragments of his memory for those two blurry sets of smiles strained with chocolate. So it’s harder to say who is more surprised when he presses the bell and a boy, little older than 10 maybe, answers the door with a blank stare and a raised eyebrow.

‘Can I help you?’

Arthur is speechless, literally. It’s James, it has to be. He’s got Dom’s poker face down to the last detail, it’s like looking at a miniature Dom with Mal’s stormy eyes.

‘Eh, hi, you probably don’t remember me but, I’m a friend of your father…’

The boy (not yet a man but trying his damn hardest to be) gives him a suspicious look.

‘Never had one of those before.’

Arthur recognizes the tone from a lifetime of distrust, of watching your back, and of growing up too fast. He manages a hopefully disarming smile.

‘I would have come earlier but I’ve been away.’

‘Like my mum?’

Arthur swallowed, ‘Can I come in？I just want to leave the presents with you guys, then I’ll be on my way.’ He holds up the paper bags as a peace offering. He’s never been all that good with kids, not even with Dom’s, to be honest. 

Just as the boy is about to speak, another voice drifted out from the inside of the house.

‘James? Who is it?’

It’s a girl’s voice, wind chimes and bubbling spring. 

Phillipa.

A hand emerges besides James a moment later, pressing down on his tense shoulder,

‘Hi, sorry about all these, grandpa said no strangers; James takes it a bit too seriously.’

She doesn’t look like Mal much, but the smile is all hers. Arthur has to clear his throat before trusting his voice again.

‘Hello, I’m Arthur. I work with your Dad a lot.’

Her eyes widen,’ Oh…OH, I remember you! You’re the guy who doesn’t smile, well, not very often anyways.’

Kids and their amazing perceptive powers. Arthur doesn’t get embarrassed easily, in fact, he can count on one hand the number of occasions he did. This will be another one.

She coaxes her frowning brother aside and opens the doors wider,

‘Please come in. Helen has gone out for food, she’ll be back soon. Would you like to stay for tea?’

Arthur pretty much bites through his tongue, ‘No, no thanks. That’s very kind. But I…I have to get going.’ 

He shoves the packages into her arms, scratching the back of his neck, ‘I brought you guys something, from your Dad.’

She ducks her head and smiles a little, ‘A Barbie right? I get one for every birthday and every Christmas. Dad’s not very creative.’

Arthur’s chest tightens momentarily; he bends down until he’s eye level with both of them,

‘Listen, I can’t promise you when, but your dad is coming back. And you can tell him that in person okay? I just, need a bit more time.’

She brightens up visibly and holds out a finger,

‘Pinky promise?’

Arthur drives back at 110 an hour, the highway whizzing past the rolled down windows. The night chill does nothing to erase the phantom burn of those tiny hands. 

  


  


  


It’s getting boring, is what it is.

Arthur feels like a ghost haunting No man’s land, the only company is the sound of his steady footsteps. Even his breathing sounds too loud in his ears. The permanent daylight doesn’t cheer him up at all, all it does is to magnify the fact that he’s utterly alone, buried in Dom’s sub-consciousness. A lost traveler looking for something that may or may not exist anymore.

He tries shouting for Cobb, screaming the name until he’s blue in the face. There isn’t even a goddamn echo answering his pleas, not a soul listening to him asking Cobb to come back, where the hell are you, damn it. 

Sometimes Arthur wonders what happens in the dream world when you die in the real one. Will the one last shuddering breath stretches into infinity, or will it be a quick black out, no time to say goodbye. Or, if spirits do exist, will they drift around in their own individual universe, rather than ascending to a collective heaven.

When he gets too tired to walk, or think anymore. Arthur pulls out the pistol in his pocket and aims for the heart, fingers steady. This is probably the only thing he never had to do when Cobb is around. He remembers Cobb getting him out once, a quick plunge of a smooth knife, the last thing he saw was Cobb’s eyes, the pupils blown so wide they practically swallowed up the thin ring of blue.

He waited for 30 minutes before Cobb stirred in the recliner; he was drenched from head to toe in sweat. His pulse a panicked flutter beneath Arthur’s palm. He asked if Arthur was okay and turned away without waiting for an answer.

He took a break for almost 4 months, one of the longest to date, 

  


  


  


There was this one time, just once. They got the info, but the projections were getting restless, they were closing in, frantically searching for the intruders. 

He and Cobb was running along this corridor, looked like a hotel of some sort, identical doors and plush carpets. They needed less than one minute perhaps, then the kick would get them out in one piece. They rounded off the corner just as a group of people marched closer, Arthur didn’t have time to think, just grabbed Cobb on instinct and leaned in; his lips grazed against the stubble on Cobb’s jaw, before settling on the spot just underneath, the skin there soft and smooth. He felt Cobb swallow against the gentle pressure, a little push and give of tendons, but Cobb’s hand went to his hips quickly enough---always the one preferring improvisation.

They stayed like that for mere moments, until the nameless faces disappeared from the corner of Arthur’s eyes. He stepped away hastily, brain scrambling to come up with something to say. However the scenery shifted just then, and he was blinking away the harsh fluorescent light overhead. The train jolted him out of the stupor, by then Dom was already gathering up their supplies. Arthur touched his lips uncertainly; the sting of Cobb’s stubble was still fresh in his mind, but all he felt now was dry skin, untouched, unmarked.

Dom blew out a breath when they’ve reached a carriage far enough from the mark. He threw a casual smile over his shoulder,

‘Good thinking, I’m pretty tired of emergency exits myself.’

Arthur turned the event over and over in his head; what if the projections didn’t move away as fast, what if they have to make it believable for just a bit longer, what would Cobb’s skin taste like on his tongue, what would Cobb’s fingertips feel like without the barriers of clothes.

He shrugged.

  


  


  


Arthur is free to touch Dom now, anywhere he likes, for as long as he likes. He even has the legitimate excuse of trying to stop Cobb’s muscles from wasting away. But he never does it without gloves; it feels…wrong to do it skin to skin, like he’s violating Dom in some way, exploring without permission. Most of the time he hires nurses to do the job, but during holidays, it’s hard to get hold of any help. He does the bathing himself---Dom sags against him in the tub, an intimate weight, his wet hair tickles Arthur’s neck. Arthur finishes the whole thing as fast as he can, then bundles Dom up in a fluffy towel. 

Arthur rubs funny smelling ointments over Dom’s clammy skin, stretching the joints. He spends the longest on Dom’s fingers; those are the ones to go first without regular exercises. He dutifully flexes each knuckle, warming them up between his palms, never missing one single digit. Dom has nice hands, not slender or pampered, but solid, a small puckered scar at the meaty part of his palm, it’s from a broken fence when Dom was young. There are thin lines running up the sides of his right arm---burns, evidence of Cobb’s first and final attempt at cooking up something other than microwave meals. 

It’s scary how much you can know about someone, without knowing them.

Really knowing them. 

  


  


  


The washing and feeding isn’t the worst part, the worst part is when the nurse shows Arthur how to help a more or less comatose guy with a chamber pot, and realization hits Arthur then.

‘I…I don’t have to hold it for him do I?’

The nurse chuckles, ‘usually not, but I’d have thought it’s no big deal for you guys.’’

Arthur feels the tips of his ears going bright red, ‘We’re not like that.’

‘Oh.’ She looks somewhat sympathetic now, ‘well, you still have to wipe the area after, unless you want to worry about infections.’

Arthur would rather strip and dance to Y.M.C.A in front of The Team, seriously. It’s not as bad as Arthur thought, but the sheer lack of physical contact means Dom occasionally gets hard from such simple touches. The first time it happens Arthur almost bolts out of the door straightaway. 

He soldiers on with the same grim determination as when he decides to take Dom with him off that plane.

  


  


  


When Dom wakes up it’s almost anti-climatic. 

Arthur is getting some water from the kitchen, he returns, blue eyes flicker up to track his entrance.

The glass hits the floor without a sound, Arthur curses when the carpet gets soaked almost instantly, jumping up to retrieve the thankfully intact tumbler. 

‘Shit! Sorry…’

He walks quickly (not running, damn it) back to the kitchen, leans over the sink and takes 10 deep breaths. Arthur spins his dice, watches it stop on the particular number, does it again, then walks back. 

Dom gives him an unsure smile, his face twists and shifts as if the very motion has been forgotten.

‘What day is it?’

Arthur tells him, his heart drumming against his ribcage, the lub-dub is all distant though, almost an annoyance. He wants to take in every detail, hears every noise, notes every movement without any distraction.

Dom nods, he tries to sit up but fails miserably. Arthur springs into action a second later, supporting Dom’s weight with one shoulder and re-arranges the pillows quickly. The sleepy stale warmth coming from Dom is almost overwhelming. 

Dom doesn’t speak again for the rest of the day, just watches--the slightly unfocused gaze of a newly freed prisoner. Arthur doesn’t blame him; he’s a bit shaken up too. He always thought there was going to be, you know, something, to warn him of this moment; a thunderstorm, a dream, something that would be a trigger to a cascade of events, baby steps and all. Not like this, having an altered reality dropped onto his head in a heartbeat.

Guess he was wrong, again.

  


  


  


Dom speaks in disjointed words and phrases first, his voice slurred, scratchy from disuse. He asks about Arthur, the team, his kids. Arthur answers all the questions, but doesn’t ask. He knows Dom is either going to talk when he’s ready, or not at all. He’s a private guy.

He drives Dom back to home home a few months later, when Dom is physically stable and mentally more organized. The kids are over the moon, naturally, and Arthur sees Dom wiping tears away awkwardly with his sleeves. 

Arthur goes to talk with Miles.

  


  


  


On the third day of the family re-union, Arthur knocks on Dom’s bedroom door and squares his shoulders. He doesn’t have a parting speech prepared, but he figures any excuse is as good as another.

Dom opens the door in loose pants and worn flannels, a sight so familiar yet completely new when they’re both standing upright.

‘Arthur? Why’re you still up?’ Dom yawned, a grin hidden beneath his ruffled hair, ‘Something under your bed? You want milk? Pancakes?’

Arthur said it in one go without his brain stepping in to cause any trouble, ‘I’m going tomorrow, thought I’d let you know.’

‘Oh.’

Arthur looks at Dom, looks at the face that he’s seen thousands of times, both asleep and awake, every single one of its impassive line, the blank plane and chiseled bones underneath.

‘Well, that’s all. I’ll let you get back to sleep.’

‘So soon?’ Dom cuts in almost before Arthur finishes saying ‘sleep’.

‘Yeah, want to do some traveling, go see some friends, been a while.’ 

Dom nods slowly, as if trying to process every syllable. Arthur turns to go again, but not before Dom calling out hastily,

‘Wait, wait, hey…’ Dom trails off. He scrubs a palm over his shadowed eyes,

‘Look, can we talk about this in the morning? Just, can you wait for a bit longer? It’s late.’

Arthur says good night evenly.

  


  


  


He finds Dom sitting in the garden with two cups of coffee on the small table, one black, one with cream and two sugars, no surprise there. The morning sun stains his hair almost white. Arthur watches him for a minute; Dom is not what you’d call classically handsome, his mouth too thin, his jaw lost the sharpness of youth, his cheeks too pale, the shadows beneath his eyes almost permanently there, but he’s no less captivating, even without his mind-blowing dream kingdom. 

Arthur has to remind himself to breathe.

Dom turns his head slightly and gestures for Arthur to sit down, Arthur moves forward on autopilot.

They finish the coffee in complete silence. Then both of them speak in perfect unison when the cups hit the tabletop.

‘Dom…’

“Listen…’

The following silence is instantly charged, with what, Arthur does not know.

Dom waits with his fingers inter-linked together, twirling his thumbs, his typical please-continue pose. Arthur takes the chance.

‘You first.’

Dom stops moving all together for one breathless moment, then he inhaled.

‘If you go, I mean, before you go, have I ever told you why I woke up?’

 


End file.
